


On Their Behalf

by ChrisBranNorling



Series: Guild Wars 2 Stories [23]
Category: Guild Wars 2 (Video Game)
Genre: Agender Character, Cisgender Character, Gen, mute character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-10
Updated: 2017-05-10
Packaged: 2018-10-30 10:22:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10874787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChrisBranNorling/pseuds/ChrisBranNorling
Summary: More than Rancalagen's little family is worried when the White Mantle attack Divinity's Reach while he's there for work.1330 AE





	On Their Behalf

Lamnon walks as they always do, bare of weapons through the tunnels of the Order of Whispers Headquarters. Well oiled armour offering only the barest of clinks at every step, and with arms clasped at their back, they bow their head in thought.

Being strictly with the Lionguard and Pact, they aren’t exactly privy to much of what the Order takes in out of Kryta, or any of the big information of what is going on behind the scenes. More access meant taking the day off and talking to their superior … Lightbringer Urdlore Sunsword.

Flicking up the brim of their helmet, Lamnon rubs their fingers along the bridge of their flat nose, an entirely too human gesture born out of frustration, the ornate golden signet hidden under equally ornate armour feels a mite bit too heavy for the metal it is made of.

They hadn’t broached proper conversation with her since the Maguuma campaign. Emotions and blame had been flung around like mud by human children in the midst of the dense jungle. Because what else could be done when Lamnon woke up next to the shredded body of their mutual partner with no memory of the crash or the apparent days that had passed afterwards?

Setting their shoulders back, Lamnon unbuckles the chinstrap of their helmet and lets it rest between their arm and side as they set up a rigid march into the depths of the Chantry.

Back when Lamnon was but an Initiate, Preceptor Doern had once advised them to lighten their step, but there’s only so much they can do short of tying cloth to their feet to deaden the echos of their armour against the stone floor. It makes them wish they had elected to come in their casual clothes.

But all thoughts regarding their choice of dress fall away when they stop in front of Lightbringer Sunsword’s office, the enclosing curtain drawn to. Looking down, there’s a small stool playing base to a brass bell. Though, before Lamnon can think to bend down to reach for it, a single word stops them.

“Enter.”

Breathing passed the lump in their chest, Lamnon parts the curtain and steps through. And even now, they can’t deny that Urdlore takes their breath away in some combination of hero worship, genuine passed affection, and a simple appreciation for her entire being. Golden hair frames her dark complexion that is struck across with an equally golden tattoo over her eyes that only narrow when they set upon Lamnon.

“You’ll be contacted per the usual routes if we have need of your services, Slayer.” Lightbringer Sunsword’s eyes flit back down to the paper on her desk, numerous reports no doubt. She is in charge of the undercover Lionguard operations under Preceptor Doern.

Unable to do much, being out of Urdlore’s sight line, Lamnon shifts into a parade rest and waits. A minute passes. Two. Three, before their superior deigns to look back up.

“What?”

Keeping their stance rigid, Lamnon writes. The tips of two of their fingers glows blue, and they impart their magic to solidify as they pass those fingers through the air. ‘Do you have a list of dead or injured for the WM attack on DR?’

Dark eyes pierce into Lamnon’s. “You only busy yourself with the dead or crippled, then?” Urdlore sits back in her chair, a picture of knowledgeable superiority. “I suppose that only belays how closed you are to the ongoings of the world outside of your little sphere.”

Maybe they were in too deep. Neighbours may have some point ceased to be only that, because when had they ever asked for more than what was needed for their job?

‘That’s why I’m asking,’ is all that Lamnon can write to that.

One of Lightbringer Sunsword’s eyes twitches, her face otherwise remaining passive. “Have you forgotten all of your training? Should I demote you back to Initiate?” She leans forwards again, picking up a single piece of parchment, inspecting it for a moment, before placing it upside down on the desk. “Or should I just dispose of you right now?” Reaching under the desk, she pulls up a great sword as long as Lamnon is tall.

Mere experience prompts Lamnon to leap to the side as the thick blade swings down to clash against the stone, ripping through the patterned rug as if it were butter. It sticks there, tip wedged into the stone from the force it was swung with as Urdlore gets up, her muscled figure imposing despite Lamnon’s similar build.

Against their better instincts, Lamnon stays where they had leapt to, the sword getting into the hands of its master again.

“There were no casualties outside of the city’s guard and the turncoat ministers,” Urdlore lets the flat of the blade rest against their unoccupied hand. “This information is easy enough to get that an Initiate could have told you, had you asked.” Going back to her desk, she sheathes the weapon and sits back down with a heavy thump.

Blinking, Lamnon looks down. They had been too caught up in the news of it, and … the emotions of others to see clearly.

“If this happens again, I will pull you from the field and assign you an Initiate.” Lightbringer Sunsword picks up some parchment to again peruse. “Don’t pretend to care in my presence again.” Is said as a dismissive afterthought.

Jerking into a bow, Lamnon replaces their helmet after they exit their superior’s office.

Either their neighbour’s happy little family would be together again by the time they got back, or they’d be able to assuage the fears of the remaining two.


End file.
